Musical Mayhem, Mishaps, and Memories
by Ilse O'Hara
Summary: When a young girl comes to the castle as a first year, she brings with her a gift that Minerva McGonagall thought was long gone in the wizarding world...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey people (if any). This story is inspired by one of my ghastly one shots in One For The Ages. The Robin one. Well. Here goes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything in conjunction with it. I do own the character of Robin McDermott, who is loosely (okay, not so loosely) based on myself, savvy?**

A glorious September morning had given way to a moody afternoon, the clouds a purple haze over the mountains in the noontime sun, which reflected a myriad of shades across the table of the Great Hall. Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a flurry of activity—after all, it was September the first. Candles needed to be hung, the feast prepared, the hunched little man who'd agreed to take the post of Defense Against The Dark Arts settled in, etcetera, etcetera. And to whom else but the Deputy should all of these duties fall? Minerva McGonagall, stool and Sorting Hat in hand, was up to her eyeballs in miscellaneous things to do…and time was definitely not on her side today! As she was busy levitating some candles over the staff table, a pair of hands set down a tea tray with a loud _clink _on the table. Started, Minerva looked down. On the tray were two steaming cups of tea that smelled like peaches, a plate of Ginger Newts, and a small dish of lemon drops. Looking sideways, Minerva said,

"Albus, I'm much too busy for tea today…I have candles to hang and the class list to draw up and…"

"My dear," Albus Dumbledore, present Headmaster, Chief Wizengamot, and Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor said, gazing over his half-moon spectacles, "you are not the only teacher in this school. I'm sure someone else can finish those things for you. Oh Filius!" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes, Albus," squeaked a tiny voice from somewhere down the Ravenclaw table,

"Would you be so kind as to hang the rest of the candles? As Charms master, I'm sure you'll find it relatively simple?"

"Of course, Albus. It won't take any time at all. Anything else?"

"Let me see…ah, yes. Would you arrange for Madame Pince to alphabetize the class list for later this evening? She does love organizing things,"

"Of course, Albus. I'll get right on it," Flitwick bobbed happily away down the hall.

"There, Minerva. Your duties are relieved. Now will you have tea with me? I'm afraid my house elf sources tell me that you haven't eaten all day,"

"Why—I guess—"

"What's the trouble, my dear," Albus said, concernedly placing a hand on Minerva's elbow, "do you not wish to have tea with me? I can leave if you want,"

"No! That's not what I meant at all! Of course I'll have tea with you, Albus," Minerva said, trying to keep her head straight as the fact that the man she had been in love with for the past twenty years was touching her, "shall we stay here or retire to my office?"


	2. Chapter 2

The wind swirled around the turrets, sending an eerie song throughout the castle. At last, it was time. It was time to welcome the students back from another summer holiday and brush away the cobwebs from their brains. Minerva McGonagall stood at her usual post at the top of the stairs, anxiously tugging at her brooch. A door slammed somewhere below and the resonance of the boom echoed to the buttresses of the ceiling. Minerva heard footsteps approaching, and she swiveled her head to see who had disrupted her last moments of precious silence. As Albus Dumbledore's eggplant robes came into view, she subconsciously smiled before dismissing the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. As Albus reached into his pocket, Minerva called out,

"Now Albus, no more sweets. You'll spoil your dinner and I'll have to listen to your complaints all throughout our chess match,"

Albus jerked his head up in surprise and withdrew his hand from within his pocket saying,

"My dear, always one to see right through me" He began to climb the stairs. "May I compliment you on your lovely evening robes. The color is absolute perfection,"

Minerva smiled, "And yours, might I say, are atrocious. Eggplant and auburn definitely do not mix,"

Albus reached the top and said, eyes twinkling madly, "But, Minerva, my dear, I am a doddering old fool who has to dress the part whilst you are an enchantingly beautiful young witch who dresses the part subconsciously," At the end of this declaration, Albus bestowed a kiss upon Minerva's hand—a courtly gesture of honor and respect. Still, as Minerva shooed him away to the Great Hall, she couldn't help but smile at the thrilling feeling that was flooding through her veins. She couldn't help but wonder about Albus's possible feelings when all at once, another door slammed open and the chamber filled with a myriad of voices. Minerva shifted a bit and put her hands inside her sleeves. She began to analyze the several first years clambering up the stairs to her as directed by a prefect—Durnberry from Hufflepuff. Most were in groups of threes or fours—obviously newfound friends from the train and the boat ride. Only one girl was by herself. Minerva's interest was piqued. This girl was nothing beautiful but nothing plain. She had big brown eyes and an oval, pale face. Minerva's eyes widened when the girl withdrew her hood—her hair was short and spiky, the style of a much older girl, woman even. Minerva realized that this girl was very independent and probably very confident—that's why she would take such risks with hair and be okay with walking by herself. Minerva's musings were cut short when the first years finally reached the top. As she surveyed them, the talking and chatter gradually grew quieter, but it was still existent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please. I wish for you to listen to what I have to say," Minerva's soft brogue echoed and immediately quieted the hissing noise. As Minerva went through her disciplinarian speech, she surveyed each and every one of the prospective students. Most conveyed a blank and wide-eyed fear. Minerva couldn't analyze those just yet, but she knew that if they were scared now, they would not be in any way superb students or the troublemakers. Speaking of, Minerva flinched notably at the sight of a redheaded boy, lounging care-freely against the banister, a smirk on his face. _Damn Weasley family _Minerva thought silently while trying not to smile. Her eyes landed on several well-dressed and sneering boys…_ah, Malfoy and Black families I'll bet _Minerva hypothesized. Her eyes fell on the shorthaired girl. Posture ramrod straight, eyes forward showing neither fear nor any boredness, the young girl was standing at attention. Minerva, still speaking, decided to test this little girl. She kept staring at her, seeing if the girl would break eye contact to look at her shoes or the wall hangings or something. She didn't.

At last, Minerva led the students through the huge double doors and gave them their first glances at the Great Hall. The second through seventh years were already seated and they applauded the first years as the later made the long hike up to the staff table. As Minerva walked forward, Albus, standing and clapping, gave her a brilliant smile. Minerva felt herself blush but returned the smile nonetheless. When she reached the front of the hall, she picked up the familiar hat off the familiar stool and withdrew a roll of parchment from within her robes. She told the first years the general idea of things and the sorting began.

As the list became shorter and shorter, most of Minerva's predictions were proven correct—the redhead was Billius Weasley. She knew his father Septimus. Those dressed in fine clothes were indeed Blacks and Malfoy—Alphard and Abraxas respectively. Minerva gave a small sigh as Richard McAvery rose from the stool and went walking off to the Ravenclaw table. Minerva looked at the next name on the list.

"Robin McDermott!" Minerva looked up from the list to see none other than the girl with the spiky hair striding confidently towards the front of the hall. As she passed Minerva and sat down, her straight posture did not change, nor did she flinch when the hat began to speak to her. Minerva, not usually one to listen in on the students' sorting process, edged a little closer to the stool so as to hear the conversation between this strange girl and the old hat.

"Hmmm, Robin McDermott. What a pretty name," the Sorting Hat said.

"My mother chose it," Robin answered. For Minerva, hearing the all too familiar Scottish lilt nearly clasped her heart in shock.

"Your mother and father—they are Muggles then. Do you have any siblings?"

"Yes. Eliza. She's at Oxford, studying dentistry,"

"Hmm. Bright family then. I think you'd be best in Ravenclaw or Gryffindor,"

Minerva's heart gave a funny little jolt at the mention of her house. Now she was secretly rooting for the latter choice.

"Either would suffice for me. I think both would provide me with an amazing experience,"

"Excellent! Now I'm going to ask you a question. Your answer will determine in what house I shall place you. And you must choose one of the choices I give you no matter how much you think you'd choose both. Understand?"

"Yes,"

"If you saw someone tormenting another unfairly and the condition was perilous, would you either risk your life to save that person or run as quickly as possible to find help?"

Another look of incredulity passed over Minerva's face. This girl was being asked things that were way above the average maturity level of an eleven year old and yet, she was answering as someone who had seen them before, had an opportunity to rehearse the answers.

"I've made my decision. I would risk my life,"

"Robin, congratulations…. I choose GRYFFINDOR!"

The Hall, which had been alive with whispers, now gave a great cheer and Minerva pulled the hat up from Robin's head. As Robin got off the stool, Minerva said,

"Miss McDermott?" Robin spun around quickly,

"Professor?"

"Won't you stop by my office this evening, after the feast. I'm your Head of House and it's in Gryffindor Tower,"

"Of course, Professor."

**A/N: Okay…do you all like so far? I know the chapters are short, but I think the overall approach to the story in this form makes it better. Please review if you liked it. Please review if you think I could do better. Please review if you hated it so much that I should never ever write anything again. Thanks. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: My, my my. I do have some apologizing to do, don't I? I am terribly sorry, all or any readers. Life is terribly time consuming. I do hope you like this next bit, and I feel a terrible updating craze coming on, what with all the holidays and all. Please enjoy!**

**I do not own. Save Robin. Mine. **

The lovely day had quieted down into a calm, clear night. Minerva paced upon the well-worn rug in front of her personal fireplace. What had compelled her to invite this young girl to a meeting tonight? She knew what she wanted to ask; yet something was stopping her. As Minerva contemplated the day's events someone rapped smartly on the door.

_Well, it's now or never_ thought Minerva. As she opened the door, Robin McDermott's warm brown eyes stared up at her.

"Good evening, Professor. Have I come at the right time?"

"Yes, come in, Miss McDermott. I applaud your punctuality,"

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall,"

"Oh good, you know my name. That saves time," Minerva said, wryly.

"Indeed," Robin replied, smiling a little. There was silence as Minerva surveyed Robin over the top of her glasses. Robin's smile faded and she stared back at Minerva seriously. "Have I done something wrong, Professor?"

"No! Not at all," Minerva said quickly, "I just…that is…I want to ask you a few questions,"

"Oh…I…I see," Robin said, faltering slightly. Minerva's eyebrows flew upwards.

"Yes. Now, I am first and foremost, a Scotswoman through and through and I can't help but wonder…" Minerva trailed off.

"Oh, yes, Professor. I'm from Glencoe, in the Scottish Highlands. You?"

"Loch Lomond, Miss McDermott,"

"Ah, yes. My mother sings—used to sing that song," Minerva laughed,

"The infernal thing. Quite moving but so overdone by some of the Muggle tenors,"

"Quite," Robin replied, eyes twinkling madly. _She has twinkly eyes just like Albus _Minerva thought.

"Now we can move forward. You are the only Muggle-born in Gyffindor. Do you have any questions?'

"Questions, professor?" Robin replied, a crease forming in her forehead.

"About life here in Hogwarts, in the magical world?" Minerva replied, smiling a little.

"No, professor. I read _Hogwarts: A History_."

"My, my, you are prepared," Minerva said. "How did your parents take the news?"

Silence. For the first time, Minerva noticed Robin looking agitated. Finally, in a controlled but oh so small voice, Robin answered,

"If you please, Professor McGonagall, I'd rather not speak about anything relating to my parents whatsoever. It is a rather sore subject for me, and I would appreciate if you would respect my wishes,"

Minerva was shocked. Normally, from any other student, the words would have been conveyed impudently, a smirk in their eyes, smile curling at the lips. But Robin's emotionless and cold delivery made Minerva's heart tug a little. She sensed that this girl had a past and that the past wasn't one filled with sunshine and daisies.

"Very well, Miss McDermott," Minerva replied levelly, "I shall respect your wishes. However, if you need anything, do not hesitate," she finished, smiling a little.

"Thank you for your understanding, Professor McGonagall," Robin replied, a grateful smile effacing away the tautness beneath her cheeks, the resolute jaw.

As Minerva dismissed Robin, she couldn't help but wonder if she should go to Albus with this predicament. It was late, now, and Minerva didn't dare go to Albus's rooms now, not when he would be in his nightwear, perhaps with his wizard's pipe that he smoked on celebratory occasions. No, that would be too much. Something terribly indecent might happen. Something like her flinging herself into his arms and…well. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. No, this issue would have to wait until a further time.

As Minerva surveyed her pale reflection in the window, the silver moonlight shimmering across the lake, she couldn't help but feel a wee bit sorry for herself. Why was she alone on such a beautiful night? Was there no one that cared for her?

Little did she know, Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, First Class, and _Witch Weekly's _Most Eligible Bachelor was thinking precisely the same thing…

**Like? Despise? Do tell, won't you?**


	4. Chapter 4

Swirling snowflakes danced around the frosted windows of Minerva McGonagall's study windows. It was quiet. Almost suspiciously so. Minerva sighed and stretched. As much as the noise of the students bustling and chatting tended to get on her nerves, now, on Christmas Eve when most were home, she missed them. Deciding to mull her holiday blues over a cup of strong peppermint tea, she capped her ink and set her quill in its handsome glass stand—a gift given ten years ago to the day from Albus. As Minerva stood, drawing her cloak around her shoulders, the fireplace flared green and there was a resounding _CRACK!_ A small, disoriented bundle spun around and landed on the carpet, dazed. Minerva's hand flew to her heart in shock.

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD IS…" she stopped short. On the floor was Robin McDermott. Not the Robin she knew, though. Not the stoic and witty little girl who acted so unlike all the others her age. No. This Robin was broken. She was crying, obviously trying to hide it.

"I beg your pardon, Professor McGonagall. I apologize if I frightened you," The voice, the little voice so much like Minerva's, was utterly destroyed. Flat. No inflection.

"Miss McDermott, whatever is the matter? How did you get through here? You're supposed to be at your home? Why are you crying?" Minerva asked worriedly going to the girl, kneeling to be at a more accessible angle for conversation.

"Professor—I—I just," Robin began. "Please, please come back with me. I need help,"

"Now, Miss McDermott, you've obviously had a difficult time but I really don't think"  
"Professor, he'll be gone now. He'll be at a pub. Please come with me while we still have time,"

Minerva didn't like the sound of any of this. She didn't even know what she was getting herself into. But. Robin was one of hers. She needed to protect her cubs. She agreed.

"Thank you so much, Professor. Let's go,"

Together, the two witches stood in front of Minerva's large stone hearth. Minerva grabbed the Floo powder. Minerva took Robin's hand in hers and softly said,

"Are you ready?"

In terms of an answer, Robin shouted, "Wren's Landing!" The two were whisked away in emerald flames. Mere seconds later, a whirling Minerva and Robin stumbled into a small kitchen. Minerva, while brushing herself off, looked around. It was quaint and tidy. A scrubbed table, full range stove, and grandfather clock were most of the room. Robin, looking curiously at Minerva said,

"Please, Professor. In the living room," Minerva shook her head as if shaking away distant memories and followed. As they turned the corner, Minerva staggered slightly and had to balance herself against the doorframe. A sense of utter anguish and pain gripped her soul and Robin backtracked, saying,

"Isn't it awful?"

**A/N: CLIFFY! I'm mean. And it is Christmas Eve. Don't despair. I'll probably upload again tonight. Please Review :) **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Wow. I should be burned at the stake. I am so so so so so sorry. I cannot believe it's been over a year! But! I've become re-inspired! So…on with the story!**

**I do not own anything, save a nice teapot and some sheet music. And Robin.**

Minerva could not tear her eyes away from the wreckage strewn on the floor. A once-beautiful grand piano was smashed into a million pieces. Minerva wanted to sob. She wanted to kill whoever had done this. She also wanted to help.

"Robin," Minerva said, eyes closed. "who did this?"

"Da." Robin replied simply, "Please, Professor. We need to hurry and save the pieces. Please."

"Robin, I'm not sure—'' began Minerva, but Robin cut in.

"Please. _Please," _Robin said, her gaze imploring and her voice sent shards of pain through Minerva's heart, "it was my mother's."

Minerva nodded silently. Robin brought forth an enormous cloth bag, and she and Minerva shoved every sliver of wood and every thread of red felt into the bag. Minerva surveyed the room once more. As they turned to the fireplace, Robin said,

"Wait! Please!"

Robin dashed upstairs. Minerva heard scuffling sounds of a large object being moved, and footsteps. Moments later, Robin came downstairs carrying a portable turntable and a suitcase.

"Professor, will these work in Hogwarts?"

Minerva surveyed the Muggle devices. "Miss McDermott, I'm afraid you'll just have to see. Professor Dumbledore will know for certain. Is there anything else?"

"The sheet music."

"Where is it?"

Robin looked around. She opened the small chest. The drawers were empty. Running back to the fireplace, she looked in the grate. Mounds of ashes overflowed onto the hearth. Robin began to weep. Minerva felt a rage akin to none other building up. She ushered the tiny child to the grate, threw in some Floo Powder, shoved the bag in, and the two of them skyrocketed back to Minerva's study.

Minerva landed swiftly, and maintained her balance. Robin landed on the rug, and didn't bother moving. Minerva could not believe her eyes. The little girl who was so stoic was lost. For the first time, Minerva saw the girl in Robin, the eleven year old. Minerva went to Robin. She heard her mumble, "He burned it all! Mother's music!" Minerva knelt down and said, thickly,

"Little one, come here."

And Minerva held Robin, who wept. Minerva felt tears brimming up in her eyes as well. She did not know what to do. Albus needed to know at once. Minerva whispered, "Fawkes. Please."

In a great rush of golden flames was Fawkes. He cooed gently, looked at Minerva inquisitively. "We need Albus. Immediately." Fawkes vanished again. In a matter of moments, Albus appeared in a rush of gold flames, his hand on Fawkes' tail. His jovial smile vanished instantly when he surveyed the scene in front of him.

"What is the meaning of this, Minerva?" he asked, voice deathly quiet.

"Her father. He is a danger. See to him. The address is "Wren's Landing."

Albus nodded imperceptibly, and strode to the fireplace. His booming voice echoed into Minerva's rooms, and Robin shuddered and fell asleep. Minerva merely sat and held her, green cloak pooling on the floor. She expected it would take Albus a manner of hours to round the man up, and was shocked to hear the roar of flames about fifteen minutes later. Albus's face was grave. He surveyed the sleeping Robin. Minerva sought his eyes.

"Dead," Albus said wearily. "Found him outside. Quite drunk before he died. I've contacted the family. I'm so sorry. She's an orphan now."

Minerva clutched the little girl to her more tightly. She had a soft spot for orphans, being one herself. She jerked her head up as Albus went to the bag.

"Minerva, what is this?"

"Her mother's piano. I suspect Robin plays, too. Please, Albus, fix it."

"I'm not sure I can."

"Albus, for me." Minerva said, imploringly. It was all she could do to not break down. Albus moved some of Minerva's furniture away to the walls. He dumped the bag's contents into the middle of the open space, and yelled, "_Reparo!" _

All at once, the piano knit itself back together. Slowly, and with much noise, which Albus quickly silenced, the strings wound back, the hammers repaired themselves, and the keys fit back into the keyboard. Minerva gasped in wonder. She'd never seen a piano like this...not unless it was…

"Albus…the maker?"

"Hmm…Bosendorfer?"

"Bloody hell!" Minerva exclaimed.

"What is it, dearest?" Albus asked, looking up startled, biting his tongue for the last word he let slip.

"It's just…the piano…that's about the best there is."

"Goodness gracious! In that little cottage?" asked Albus, noting silently to ask Minerva later how she knew all of this. Minerva merely began running her hand soothingly up and down Robin's back. Robin, still asleep, shifted uneasily.

Albus had wandered over to the suitcases. He opened the turntable. "Minerva!" he whispered excitedly, "A record player! Oh how I love these!" He opened the second suitcase, which was full of records. Not just any records. He pulled one after another out, featuring a pretty woman wearing ornate dresses. Albus asked,

"Minerva…who are these people?"

Minerva said, "What do you mean?"

"Well, Bach and Mozart were wizards, so I've heard of them. But Chopin? Is that French? And Mendelssohn? And Tchaikovsky? Schumann?"

Minerva was curious. "They're composers, Albus. Remarkably talented. Would you…" she petered out. Albus prompted her to go on. "Would you please play the Chopin record?"

And as Albus obliged and the beautiful melodies swirled around Minerva's chambers, Robin awoke saying, "Mother!"

All at once, Robin took in her surroundings. She pulled away from Minerva, apologizing profusely and blushing. Albus intervened.

"My dear, do not apologize. Are you quite alright?"

"Yes, Headmaster. I'm fine…the piano! You've fixed it!"

Robin ran to it, and the record stopped magically, caused by a discrete wand wave. Robin ran her fingers over the keys silently, not daring to press them. Minerva saw tears fall. Robin stepped away from it, turned toward Albus and Minerva, and said,

"He's dead, isn't he?"

And there Minerva broke. She nodded silently, tears coursing down her features. Robin ran to her for a hug, all formalities tossed aside. And Albus came and stood with the two of them in his embrace, angry at the world for causing them pain. As they pulled themselves together, Minerva asked,

"Robin, your mother…was she a pianist? Are these her recordings?"

"Yes, Professor. I hid them. Please may we keep them at Hogwarts? I know Muggle things aren't usually allowed…"

"You may keep whatever you wish." Albus interjected.

"Then…Professor McGonagall," Robin asked, "will you shrink the piano and keep it in your desk? And the records and the player? They'll be safe here."

"Of course, Robin."

"And…may I come after school to play?"

"Yes."

"Thank you so much, Professor McGonagall. And to you, Professor Dumbledore. I suppose Liza will call tomorrow?" Robin said, looking at Albus.

"I'm not sure," Albus replied, "she knows about your father."

Robin merely nodded. She went to the door. Before leaving, she turned.

"Happy Christmas, Professors."

As the door shut, Minerva began to sob. Albus went to her, and quickly enfolded her into his arms. He wished he could tell her of his love, of anything that would make the pain go away. He knew she was reliving her own heartbreaks over her parents' deaths, and he knew she ached for Robin. And he held her tightly, the two of them swaying gently.

Minerva stopped crying. She gazed at the piano longingly. As she failed to meet Albus's eyes, he whispered,

"You play, don't you?"

Minerva turned, shocked. She'd kept it hidden for so long. "Yes, I—I was quite good back in the day."

"Play me something."

"Albus, it's been years."

"For me, dearest."

Minerva shuddered. For the second time tonight he'd called her dearest. She gazed up at his eyes, and saw his earnestness. So, she went to the piano.

"What would you like?"

"The song that was just on the record."

And as Minerva stared at the keys, she closed her eyes. She raised her shaking hands, and the nocturne sailed around the room, it's melancholy summarizing the harrowing events of the evening. Albus sat in the glory of the music, watching Minerva play. She was enchanting in daily life, but this was positively heavenly. She swayed slightly, her lips parted, and a look of bliss was on her face. Albus pushed away more than one inappropriate thought about his young deputy and the goddess that was Minerva McGonagall. For she never, in a million years, would choose to love a doddering old fool like himself. As the nocturne ended, Albus went to her, placed his hands upon her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head. With that, he left. The booming finality of the door closing signaled the end of the hellish night. Minerva shrunk the piano, the records, and the player, and put them into her desk drawer. As she changed into her nightgown, she thought how…alive she had felt in the past few hours. Emotion was never her strongest suit, and she'd crammed enough of it in to make up for her cool wont. The last thought that entered Minerva's mind before succumbing to sleep was of the feel of Albus's hands upon her shoulders, and his kiss upon her hair…

**A/N: Goodness that was depressing. So sorry. This story will lighten up. I promise. Also, I promise to not take a year to update. Sweet deals. **


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